


take my heart and throw it out

by seaworn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Pining, Post-Reichenbach, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 06:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12227517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaworn/pseuds/seaworn
Summary: Sherlock was slowly starting to crack under the pressure. His mind impulsively went for the things he wanted to say to John but couldn’t and wouldn’t, the letters he’d written in his head while he’d been away.





	take my heart and throw it out

They weren’t talking very much these days.

Just the bare minimum, sometimes less.

Sherlock saw it like this: After everything he and John have been through together, they’d had approximately one month’s window where they could have figured things out. Now it’s been two months and six days since John moved back in and they’ve let everything float between them for too long.

It would be awkward to say anything at this point, anymore. They were learning how to be around each other again, and Sherlock felt like every day was a little bit easier for them. So why disrupt the status quo by opening the wounds they tried so hard to close?

However, things weren’t as bad as they’d been. Most of it was better than before. John didn’t look at Sherlock like he was disappointed in his mere existence, wasn’t passive aggressively banging cupboard doors and tea cups, wasn’t huffing in anger at everything Sherlock did or said.  John had ever started smiling at him without it looking forced.

But Sherlock noticed changes in himself. He was slowly starting to crack under the pressure of _not talking._ His mind impulsively went for the things he wanted to say to John but couldn’t and wouldn’t, the letters he’d written in his head while he’d been away.

_**_

Once, in the morning. John was making tea in the kitchen in striped cotton pajamas. His hair was fluffy and soft; eyes barely open, but still managing to make his tea like a ritual. Sherlock, sitting in his chair because that way he had a clear view of John, thought, ‘ _when I came back, I noticed they’d stopped selling your favourite tea in the nearest shops. I went to the other side of London and bought every tin I could find.  I have it all stored in my closed, behind my dress shoes.  I don’t think you’ve noticed yet. Is this ‘a bit not good’?’_

_**_

John looked weary whenever he was asking about Sherlock’s plans – as if Sherlock was planning on getting onto unknown aeroplanes, jumping from rooftops, disappearing from John’s grasp. Sherlock thought, ‘i _f you’ll fall in love with someone, I won’t get in the way anymore, I promise’_ , while saying out loud: “I think I’m going to go to Bart’s - Molly might have a liver for me. Do you want Thai for dinner? I can get some on the way back.” 

**

Once, after a case, under the midnight sky, in flashing red and blue lights of a crime scene: ‘ _Did you ever look at the sky and think I’m up there somewhere, even though you don’t believe in heaven in the traditional sense? I watched the moon in Egypt, Cabo, Minsk, Peru, and the thought of you watching the same sky eased the panic hurting my lungs.’_

_**_

Lestrade asked them for a pint. A co-worker’s promotion or something didn’t exactly affect them but what sounded like a good excuse to get out the flat. For once, Sherlock accepted the invite without a fight.

Sherlock looked at John smiling from behind the rim of his glass and thought, ‘ _we should get intoxicated. I’d let you fuck me against the back of the sofa, then pretend we don’t remember anything the next morning.’_

_**_

Some of his thoughts were slightly vain.

_I found a grey hair behind my ear. Do you think we’ll still live together when we’re old? Will you like me less when I’m wrinkled and grey? Do you even like me now?_

_**_

When John came from work, took off his shoes and sat down in his chair with a content sigh, Sherlock thought:

_I love you. I feel it in my chest, around my ribcage, in my gut like a constant punch. You’re a doctor - is it supposed to feel like this?_

_**_

The journal in Sherlock’s mind palace was old, worn and small enough to be hid in the pocket of his old uni lab coat. It contained notes from unfinished symphonies he’d dreamed about, mostly, but also words and sentences scribbled in-between.

_I’ve had a lot of time to do research about love. I’m fairly confident that I love you. I cannot be sure, though. I usually ask for your help in these things. But I do know that I want to consume, devour you, crawl inside you, have your DNA on me, learn your heartbeat, then compose a symphony to match it, I - god –John-_

_**_

_You said a part of you died when I died. Which part? How can I get it back for you? Please let me help._

**

_I don’t know how to fix this._

_**_

_Dear Lord_

_Show me_

_The way—_

_Take_

_My heart_

_And throw_

_It away_

 

_Lord, take_

_My heart_

_And throw_

_It out_

 

_Lord, throw_

_My heart_

_Way out_

_\- Prayer by Robert Glück_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is so far my only fic to the Sherlock fandom. I wrote this about a year ago and only now decided to publish it. 
> 
> English is not my first language, feel free to point out any mistakes! All comments are welcome and appreciated <3 
> 
> Come say hi to me @[dotingdamen](http://www.dotingdamen.tumblr.com)!


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